


Meant to Be

by voldyeemort



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voldyeemort/pseuds/voldyeemort
Summary: It was always meant to be.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	Meant to Be

It was always meant to be.

Two souls, tied together by fate, destined to meet in the throes of ardor.

One marks the other’s beginning, and he will be equally capable of bringing about their ending if he desires.

Not only is he able, but he will be the only person with the capability of causing the other’s demise. For neither can live, while the other survives.

They were always meant to be.

—

Harry couldn’t remember his life without Voldemort. It was always just the two of them, when it came down to it. 

In the cupboard under the stairs, when there was no light to comfort him. When Harry had nothing but the spiders above his head, thoughts of how his family should treat him and the sensations of aching in his limbs to keep him awake, his mind would stray to thoughts of a better life. He knew he had one, once, but all he remembered was red eyes and a flash of green light. So he latched onto those memories - the fantasies of a mad child, according to his Aunt Petunia - and imagined that the person who changed everything for him would come and change it all, once more.

Voldemort was there when Harry curled up in his bunk at Hogwarts. When he marveled at what his life had become, he remembered that steady presence in the back of his mind. In second year, when he had Tom Riddle’s diary to turn to when he was lonely. In sixth year, when he kept an odd crown he found in the Room or Requirement. He would put it on or simply hold it when he was bored, caressing the warm medal beneath his palms.

Voldemort was there when Harry left everything he knew. He was at the front of Harry’s mind as he donned his Invisibility Cloak and apparated away from the Burrow in the dead of night.

Most importantly, Voldemort was there when Harry arrived outside the gate of Malfoy Manor during a Death Eater meeting, weary and bearing each of his Horcruxes.

Voldemort was lost, but Harry became his light. When he was at his darkest point, Harry came. His soul was a beacon of bright light, and the horcruxes in his hold were black voids greedily sucking in the light from Harry’s soul. 

But Harry’s light was never-ending. He gave and gave all he had to Voldemort, and he never stopped. Voldemort couldn’t get enough. He grasped onto every bit of Harry. He took in Harry’s light and his horcruxes festered darkness in Harry. 

They gave and took, until they couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

They were two souls entwined.

Voldemort was utterly obsessed with Harry. He couldn’t get enough. Could never get enough.

—

They made love in the night.

When it started, Harry would drag Voldemort away from his desk and into bed finally, after working all day. While Voldemort would never admit it, he was touched that Harry cared.

Then there were the touches. Soft caresses in the secrecy of darkness. And Harry would have prepared himself before getting Voldemort, so there was no wait before Voldemort could begin to ease into him. They always started soft. Slow movements and quiet sighs that were uncharacteristic for Lord Voldemort. He would reach out and caress his horcrux where it crowned Harry’s head. Then their pace would speed up as they each reached their peaks. Slow moves became quick, unforgiving thrusts and sighs became harsh grunts and keening moans. And when they climaxed, it was as though there was no one else in the world but them. Nothing mattered beyond their bed and each other.

Eventually, it became Voldemort who sought out Harry. He would carry Harry to bed when he fell asleep in the library or in the gardens. Voldemort would wake him with soft whispers and tenderly lift him into his arms. And Harry would sigh - a sweet sound that Voldemort was coming to adore - before curling further into his embrace.

On the nights when Harry wasn’t found sleeping somewhere, he would lay in their bed with a book. And Voldemort would come, beckoned by Harry’s very presence. He would ease the book from Harry’s hands, and move his pliant body into position. Voldemort would prepare him with tender care, not stopping until he was certain that Harry wouldn’t hurt. Then, slower than slow, he would take Harry. Thrusting into him until Harry would grasp the sheets beneath them and plead, Voldemort’s horcrux glinting among his dark hair. Every time, Voldemort would stutter in his pace before chasing climax in the warmth of the only person he ever loved.

And in the quiet darkness, as they came down from their highs, Voldemort would look at Harry with a smile. Harry looks back at him with a similarly awed expression, entrancing eyes never parting from Voldemort’s.

Voldemort was absolutely besotted. His entire world revolved around Harry.

He had to know what would come. But past a certain point, he was too lost to care.

—

It only seemed fitting that it would happen at night. They first met at night, when Voldemort tried to kill Harry as a baby. It was night, as well, when Harry ensured his return to the physical world. It was also night when Harry gave himself to Voldemort in every way possible. He gave Voldemort his freedom, his body, and his love.

So, it is at night again when Voldemort gives Harry all of him.

At Harry’s request, he calls his horcruxes back into himself, even the one they discovered in Harry’s scar.

Voldemort is utterly obsessed with Harry. He always has been.

He wants to give Harry everything.

He doesn’t fight when Harry brings the blade to his throat.


End file.
